YOUNG 

MAN’S 

FANCY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2018  with  funding  from 
Getty  Research  Institute 


https://archive.org/details/youngmansfancyOOphil 


Once  in  my  lady’s 

garden  bower 
I  hid  me  when  she 
came, 

And  heard  her  whisper 
to  a  flower 

A  secret  and  a  name! 

She  held  it  in  her 
finger-tips 

A  little  while,  and  then 

Pressed  it  against 

her  scarlet  lips — 
Kissed  it,  and  said 
Amen  l 


O.OU.ES  PHI  LL  IT’S 


MANS 

FANCY 

BY 

COLES 

PHILLIPS 

DECORATIONS  BY 
E.  STETSON 
CRAWFORD 


THE 

BOBBS-MERRILL 

COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT 

1912 


THE 

BOBBS-MERRILL 

COMPANY 


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TO  MY  WIFE 


YOUNG 

MAN’S 

FANCY 


Are  you  sorceress 

or  Circe, 

Never  warmth  with 

thought  of  mercy, 
Calmly  binding  me 
within  your  cruel  snare? 


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Have  you  charmed 

the  tender  skies 
Till  they  linger 

in  your  eyes? 
Have  you  deftly 
wound  the  sunlight 
in  your  hair? 


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There’s  a  wonderful 

stir  made 

Each  morning  at  ten. 

For  Myrtilla 

a  mermaid 
Is  apt  to  be  then ; 


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All  the  sirens 

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Salute  as  they  should, 

And  old  Neptune 

would  capture 
The  girl  if  he  could. 


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Swift  from  the  bow 

of  morning  sped 

One  golden  dart 

Straight  to  the  fragrant 

blossom  red— 

Straight  to  the  garden’s 

heart. 


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COPYRIGHT.  1912.  THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


So  from  your  lips — 
the  rosy  bow 

Of  Love  divine — 

Speed  the  sweet  word 
and  bid  it  go 

Straight  to  this  heart 
of  mine! 


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The  south  wind 

sweeps  over  the 

hill,  little  girl, 

Through  the 

red  clover-blossoms 

it  roves ; 

The  honey-bee’s 

drinking  its  fill, 

little  girl,  and  is 
Drunk  with  the 

nectar  it  loves. 


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clover  yields 
saccharine  food 

for  the  bee, 
But  the  warm, 
loving  touch  of 
your  lips,  little  girl, 
Is  a  hundred 

times  sweeter 
to  me,  little  girl, 
Than  the  nectar 

the  honey-bee  sips! 


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This  way  she  went, 

Ah  me,  but  it  is 
easy  reading — 
Her  glimmering  trail 
across  the  garden’s 
green  descent; 
As  clear  to  follow  as  a 
flute’s  fine  note 
receding. 


0OBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT.  1912. 


Beneath  her  lissom 
tread  these  tangled 
grasses  bent, 
And  here  her  fragile 
lace  upon  a  brier 
impending, 

Left  pendulous  a  rose 
of  thread  and 
perfume  blent 
This  way  she  went. 


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About  her  when 

she  slumbers, 
Breathe,  zephyrs 

of  the  night, 

And  weave  of  # 

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Dreams  that  shall 


bring  delight. 


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Sing  of  the  stars  above  her; 
And  once,  ere 

you  depart, 

Sing  softly  that  I  love  her, 
Dear  keeper  of 

my  heart. 


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I’ve  watched  while 

other  girls  made  tea, 
So  I’m  prepared  to  judge; 
No  other  picture 

quite  suits  me 
Like  Mabel  making  fudge. 


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THE  BOBBS-MCRRH.L  COMPACT 


And  if  Dan  Cupid 

helps  a  mite, 

All  day  I’ll  gladly  drudge 
At  business,  if  by 

candle-light 
My  Mabel  makes 

my  fudge! 


Belinda’s  freckles — 

past  all  doubt 
The  gold  within 

her  coming  out — 
Are  all  the  wealth 

of  which  I  boast, 
The  Midas  stores  I 

care  for  most. 


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COLES  PHILLIPS  13i2 


COPYRIGHT.  1912,  THE  BOBBS-MERRIU.  COMPANY 


And  if  for  one  small, 

slightest  piece 
Of  that  vast  store 

you’d  seek  release, 
You  could  not  get  it, 

not  from  me, 
For  all  the  wealth 

of  Kimberley. 


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More  love  or  more 

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disdain  I  crave; 

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Sweet,  be  not 

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still  indifferent: 

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to  my  grave. 

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,  .  .  .  more  content! 

Or  love  or  hate  me 

more  or  less, 
For  love  abhors 

all  lukewarmness. 


When  snow  on  the 

sun-dial  lies, 
And  the  heart  and 

the  year  seem  cold, 
As  the  carrier-pigeon  flies. 
I  return  to  the  love  of  old ! 


cole:s  Phillips 

COPYRIGHT.  1912.  THE  8O80S-MERRIUL  COMPANY 


Be  mine,  dear 

Mabel,  and  I  vow, 
In  clear  or  stormy 

weather, 
As  smoothly  as 

we’re  gliding  now 
We’ll  fare  through 

life  together. 


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Is  it  her  step,  so 

softly  sweet 
Descending  as  of 

old  the  stair, 


That  step  which 

thrills  me  so? 
Shall  I  once  more 


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my  Elsie  meet, 
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^  like  and  fair, 

Who  left  me  long  ago? 


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I  wonder  if 

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she  will  receive 
Me  gladly  as  she 

used  to  do, 
When  life  was 

all  serene; 
Still  as  of  old 

in  me  believe; 
Uplift  her  eyes,  so 

kind  and  true; 
And  on  my 

love  yet  lean. 


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I  believe  all 

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Ef  they’re  only 
A  understood, — 

Even  bad  ones 

’pears  to  me 
’S  jes  as  good  as 

they  kin  be ! 

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Sometimes,  when  I  bin  bad, 
An’  Pa  “currecks”  me  nen, 
An’  Uncle  Sidney 

he  comes  here, 
I’m  alius  good  again; 


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’Cause  Uncle  Sidney  says, 
An’  takes  me  up 

an’  smiles, — 
The  goodest  mens 

they  is  ain’t  good 
As  baddest  little  childs! 


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Like  a  lilac  in  the  spring 
Is  my  love,  my  lady-love; 
Purple-white,  the  lilacs  fling 
Scented  blossoms 

from  above 


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Phyllis  is  my  only  joy, 
Faithless  as  the 

winds  and  seas, 

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Sometimes  cunning, 

somtimes  coy, 
Yet  she  never 

%  *  fails  to  please. 


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If  with  a  frown 
I  am  cast  down, 

Phyllis  smiling 
And  beguiling, 

Makes  me  happier 

than  before. 


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Love  in  her  sunny  eyes 

does  basking  play; 

Love  walks  the  pleasant 

mazes  of  her  hair; 

Love  does  on  both  her 

lips  forever  stray, 


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COLES  PHILLIPS 


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And  sows  and  reaps  a 

thousand  kisses  there ; 

In  all  her  outward  parts 

Love’s  always  seen ; 

But  Oh!  he  never 

went  within. 


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and  yet,  and  yet, 
She  drooped  her 
head — ah,  sad 

coquette ! 

I  wonder  if  ’twas 

nay  she  meant? 
The  mantling  blushes 
came  and  went; 

Her  eyes  with  unshed 

tears  were  wet. 


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COPYRIGHT  LICK  PI 


The  thought  of  you  is 

like  a  rose  in  bloom 
In  some  old  garden, 

reft  of  other  flowers; 
And  through  the  heavy, 
slowly  moving  hours 
Your  beauty  makes 

a  glory  in  the  gloom. 


Love  in  thy  youth,  fair 

maid,  be  wise ; 
Old  Time  will  make 

thee  colder, 
And  though  each 

morning  new  arise, 
Yet  we  each  day 

grow  older. 


COPYRIGHT, 


BOBBS-MERRIU.  COMPAI'fY 


Thou  as  Heaven  art 

fair  and  young, 
Thine  eyes  like 

twin  stars  shining; 

But  ere  another 

day  be  sprung, 

And  these  will 

be  declining. 


It  is  not,  Celia, 

in  our  power 

To  say  how  long 

our  love  will  last ; 

It  may  be  we 

within  this  hour 


COPYRIOHT  LIFE  PUB.  CO. 


May  lose  those  joys 

we  now  do  taste ; 

The  Blessed, 

that  immortal  be, 

From  change  in  love 
are  only  free. 


COLES  PHILLIPS 


AND  HIS  WORK 


Coles  Phillips 

THE  creator  of  The  Fadeaway  Girl  was  born 
in  Springfield,  Ohio,  thirty-one  years  ago. 
There  was  little  of  the  artistic  temperament 
in  his  early  years,  rather  more  of  the  healthy,  fun- 
loving  boy’s  capacity  to  fall  into  deviltry,  and  it  was 
not  until  his  college  days  that  he  realized  that  his 
natural  ability  to  draw  might  be  of  use  to  him.  In 
his  efforts  to  work  his  way  through  Kenvon  College 
at  Gambier,  Ohio,  he  earned  his  first  money  as  an 
artist  by  illustrating  and  decorating  the  college 
monthly  magazine.  After  his  graduation  at  the  age 
of  twenty-one,  he  went  to  New  York  and  for  some 
time  picked  up  a  varied  experience  here  and  there, 
clerking  and  working  at  odd  jobs.  Later  he  found 
employment  as  solicitor  in  one  of  the  city’s  biggest 
advertising  and  designing  houses.  In  this  position 
he  represented  his  chosen  field  and  cultivated  a  keen 
business  sense  and  a  practical  knowledge  of  commer¬ 
cial  art. 

He  soon  used  this  knowledge  to  good  advantage 
in  forming  a  dozen  artists  into  an  advertising  or¬ 
ganization  of  his  own.  In  this  new  adventure  he 
was  forced  to  spend  so  much  time  as  “outside  man” 
on  the  business  end  of  the  concern  that  his  painting 
suffered  from  neglect.  But  he  finally  responded  to 
the  call  of  the  artist  in  him,  retired  from  the  commer¬ 
cial  field,  rented  a  studio,  and  set  out  to  remedy  his 
lack  of  technical  training  by  attending  the  Chase 
School  in  the  afternoons  and  the  Free  Art  School  on 
Forty-fourth  Street  in  the  evenings. 

On  his  first  drawing  Phillips  worked  a  month. 
“Life”  accepted  it  as  a  double-page  cartoon  and  pro¬ 
ceeded  at  once  to  look  up  Phillips.  He  immediately 
became  a  regular  contributor,  and  when  “Life” 
issued  colored  covers  the  Fadeaway  Girl  made  her 
bow  to  lovers  of  the  daintily  feminine.  Her  success 


COLES  PHILLIPS 


was  instantaneous,  and  her  type  with  its  elusive  lines 
and  its  happy  blending  of  colors,  has  become  famous 
the  country  over.  So  original  was  the  conception 
that  the  Fadeaway  Girl  will  always  stand  for  Coles 
Phillips  and  Coles  Phillips  for  the  Fadeaway  Girl. 
He  says,  however,  that  his  other  achievements  with 
the  brush  have  done  more  to  bring  him  success  than 
the  fadeaway  drawings. 

Admirers  of  the  art  of  Phillips  little  realize  the 
amount  of  work  required  in  these  apparently  simple 
creations.  So  much  of  the  surrounding  detail  is 
eliminated  that  it  is  doubly  imperative  to  show  the 
central  figure  to  its  best  advantage.  Therefore,  since 
his  artistic  effects  must  be  produced  with  so  few 
actual  lines,  every  drawing  demands  the  most  careful 
study.  To  do  this  with  truth  to  life,  Phillips  always 
uses  living  models. 

The  originator  of  the  Fadeaway  Girl  is  not  of 
the  long-haired,  flowing  bow-tie  variety  of  artists, 
but  prides  himself  on  his  practicality  and  enjoys 
having  his  friends  call  him  “sane  and  business-like,” 
which  he  is.  He  lives  in  New  Rochelle,  the  New 
York  suburb  which  now  has  another  claim  to  fame 
than  the  fact  that  it  is  “Forty-Five  Minutes  from 
Broadway,”  and  there  in  his  studio  overlooking  Long 
Island  Sound,  with  his  slender,  sweet-faced  wife 
as  a  model,  he  does  much  of  his  best  work.  For  the 
wife  of  C.  Coles  Phillips  is  the  inspiration  of  the 
art  that  has  made  him  famous.  America  has  opened 
wide  her  arms  to  welcome  this  new  creation.  The 
Coles  Phillips  Girl  typifies  the  subtle  charm  of 
American  womanhood.  In  the  drawing-room  or  in 
the  kitchen,  breaking  hearts  or  baking  pies,  or 
sturdily  joying  in  the  mighty  stillness  of  the  great 
outdoors,  always  alluring,  always  at  home,  a  real 
woman  from  the  tip  of  her  dainty  boot  to  the  soft 
glory  of  her  hair,  she  stands  out  from  her  Hat  back¬ 
ground  and  answers  completely  to  a  young’s  man’s 
fancy  at  its  highest  and  best. 


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